


Ever more my protection

by OwlFeathers (AngelofAlderaan)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Character Development, Demons, Flaming Sword, Heaven, Heaven & Hell, Hell, Original Character(s), Swordfighting, Swords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23464243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofAlderaan/pseuds/OwlFeathers
Summary: "In light of certain recent events Azriaphale began to rethink a lot of things concerning weapons. Holding the flaming sword again had surprisingly felt quite natural. An itch began to burn in the back of his mind. He knew eventually, after heaven and hell had cooled their heels, they might be after them again. Next big one or not. After all he and Crowley had been through, he was not prepared to lose the one important thing in his life. The demon had become his constant after six millennia on earth, and more importantly, his best friend."After Nonmeggedon, Aziraphale realizes that he must take drastic measures to protect his demon from the forces of Heaven and Hell.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	1. The Protector

It had been centuries since Aziraphale had picked up a sword. He had never killed anyone before, and he never intended to. He had wounded and maimed to save himself and protect others, but as an angel, a being of divine love, he never could bring himself to take a life. In the beginning, he had been given the role of Guardian of the Eastern Gate because he was an expert swordsman. What his superiors didn’t take into account for was his big heart, something most angels strangely seemed to lack. It set him apart from his peers. However, this didn’t make him weak. In fact, to the contrary, it was what helped him avoid Armageddon to begin with.

The angel was created to be a protector, trained from creation to do just this job. However, over the aeons, he gave up his sword in favor of his books and took up the mantle of a kindly, but fussy scholar. Even Crowley often forgot that Aziraphale could discorperate him several different ways with "just his pinky" as the saying goes. And Aziraphale liked to keep it that way. His heart would never be a warrior's, but now that he had something to protect, this had awakened something long since dormant in the angel, and that was the need to remain vigilant and on guard.

In light of certain recent events Azriaphale began to rethink a lot of things concerning weapons. Holding the flaming sword again had surprisingly felt quite natural. An itch began to burn in the back of his mind. He knew eventually, after heaven and hell had cooled their heels, they might be after them again. Next big one or not. After all he and Crowley had been through, he was not prepared to lose the one important thing in his life. The demon had become his constant after six millennia on earth, and more importantly, his best friend.

The first thing Aziraphale knew he needed to get his hands on a weapon that would destroy a demon...and an angel, so that he could be prepared at all times to take down any foe. Unfortunately, such a weapon as far as he knew did not exist. So he started planning. The hard part was hiding what he was up to from Crowley.

Now that they had successfully avoided eternal extinction, Crowley was by the bookshop practically every day. And for a long while, Aziraphale enjoyed every second of it. It was nice to be able to socialize without fear of repercussions. But slowly that peace was replaced with an unease. He began to research his options for protection, but it became harder and harder as the days went by to keep what he was doing from his friend.

Crowley slithered in one bright morning to find the angel knee deep in research once again. The blonde haired being barely acknowledged his friend when the demon sauntered over to him.

“Okay angel, get your nose out of that book, you need some air.” The demon, gently removed the book from Aziraphale’s hands and out from under him. He was about to close the book when he took a better look at what the angel had been reading. “What the heaven is this?” He was staring at a whole entry on hellfire.

Well, now he knew the angel was up to something. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the demon, he just didn’t want to worry his friend. This was his burden to carry. “Never you mind,” he stated a matter of factly, “I am researching.” Snatching the book away, he shut it with a thump.

Crowley peered with his yellow eyes over the top of his glasses. “Hellfire?”

The angel folded his hands in his lap, and stuck his nose slightly into the air. “None of your concern. Now, if you want to go out, I would be delighted--”

“No, no, you are not getting out of this that easily. What are you planning for?” Crowley placed a hand on the back of the high backed chair and leaned in close to Aziraphale’s face. “You can’t hide thisss from me, I will find a way to get what I want.” He almost whispered this last part with a hint of a hiss.

This flustered the angel, but he held his ground. “You need not get upset. I don’t need you worrying about anything. It’s probably nothing even I should be concerned about.”

He truly did wish to share what he was thinking with Crowley, but the demon was known for charging into things headfirst without thinking. He couldn’t risk him rushing into a problem that might not even exist. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, he always said. And the need to protect his best friend was becoming more and more overwhelming every day.

“Now, lunch?”

~**~

Alright, this is fine, he doesn’t have to tell me everything. ’s fine. And anyways, if it’s really something serious, he’d tell me, right? Crowley was pacing in his flat, his plants shivering each time he passed by, fearful that he would take this mood out on them. Yeah, but he didn’t tell you when he figured out where the Antichrist was. ‘member how great that turned out?

Why would he need to research hellfire? Was he looking for his own insurance?

“Doesn’t he trust me?” He paused and yelled in the general direction of the plants, who shook harder. No, that couldn’t be it. Aziraphale wanted to tell him, he was just afraid. “Stupid angel’s gonna get himself discorporated or worse.” He muttered to himself. A burning bookshop flared up in his mind. He was not going to lose his best friend again. He had to take matters into his own hands this time.

He picked up his mobile and dialed.

~**~

The shadows did little to hide the angel as he quickly made his way through the back alleys of London. He cursed under his breath that he didn’t think to wear something a little less conspicuous. His eagerness to follow up this new information superseded any other thoughts he might have to being seen. He was being paranoid he knew, but he couldn’t help it, he had been on the defensive for the past few weeks since beginning his research. A heavy rain had just fallen and he did his best to avoid puddles as he went. There, not a block away was his target: the library. For a bibliophile, it might strike others as odd that Aziraphale didn’t come here often, but he felt that his own private collection was far superior to most anywhere else. That, and he couldn’t keep whatever he wanted from here, which was also a terrible problem. He tried buying a book from a library once. It was a rare find, in excellent condition, and he offered a substantial amount for it, but the manager refused his offer, and since then he had refused to set foot in another library. Until now.

His own research from his extensive collection had reached a dead end, so that afternoon after Crowley stalked home, he booted up his ancient computer and did his best to navigate the internet for more information. This also turned up few leads. But he did see that one of the library branches had a volume that might be just what he needed.

Inside he got a little flustered again. He did not care for their way of classifying books. Eventually he found the volume he was looking for. He found a seat at one of the tables and quickly set to work, gently pawing through the old volume for the information he was looking for. It had been written by a monk who was passing down an oral tradition some three hundred years ago, and then translated and printed into English almost one hundred and fifty years ago. It was all concerning angelology, and much of it was right on the money. He wondered which angel had the big mouth, or worse, which angel had been tortured for information. It had to have been a high ranking one, to have so much knowledge. There! He stared at the book in wonder.

A sword forged in hellfire is said to be able to slay ethereal beings. Even a slight cut can be fatal to them. He had been right then! A weapon that could kill an angel had once existed. Perhaps even still did. Now he had to figure out a way to either obtain one or create one. He hated to do this, but now he might actually need Crowley’s help.

“Excuse me,” He got a page’s attention with a polite wave. The young woman jogged over to him, “I need to make a duplicate image of this page.”

~**~

The dark was never an issue for the demon, there were days long past when he had only came out at night because it was the only thing that hid his true nature from humans, long before such things as sunglasses and contacts were invented. His eyes were naturally well suited for low light anyway. Crowley leaned coolly against a well worn brick wall in a darkened back alley, not far from the angel’s bookshop. He had been waiting longer than he’d like for his appointment to arrive, but he was not surprised that he was running late. After all, this was the “great demon Crowley” his party was about to meet with.

Hell had a lot of levels of hierarchy, a sick mockery of what they used to have in heaven. The lowest level demons never saw the light of day, being relegated to paper pushing, and general torture of souls, but the next step up were demons that were little more than errand boys for all the other demons. They were more humanoid than the lowest level little guys, but these demons really resembled your classic image of a minion of hell--tiny pointed ears; wide, dark eyes, coarse black hair. Some even styled it to look like horns. And they lived in a perpetual state of fear. Each of the more senior demons had a few of these lesser fiends at their disposal--sometimes literally. Crowley rarely called on these hellions, but tonight he made the choice to call one in. He needed information.

Movement at the entry of the alley signaled that the serpent was not alone. “Oi, Maphibos! I see you down there.” The shape slunk slowly his way, cowering in fear. He dropped to one knee in front of Crowley.

“My lord Crowley. How can I be of service?” The lesser demon was shivering, shoulders hunched. Maphibos had always been fearful of Crowley, but this was an extreme fear. This confused him for a moment, then it hit him: he was petrified of the demon who could survive holy water. Well, this was an interesting development. 

“I need information.”

The demon would not look at Crowley, but he nodded quickly, “Of course. What kind, my liege?” 

“I need to know if there’s any demons planning on threatening me or my friend.”

Maphibos dared a glance up. “My lord, no one dares face the great demon Crowley, not any more. Truth, lord, everyone in hell is frightened at what you might be capable of after your warning.”

Warning? Aziraphale must have said something to the demons during the swap. What the heaven had that daft angel said? Well, whatever it was, it certainly added validity to their little ploy. Crowley did his best to impersonate a powerful being. He wasn’t sure exactly how to get this notion across, so he did his best version of Darth Vader, minus the voice. “Excellent. They would do well to heed my warning. I don’t need anyone getting any ideas.”

“Will that be all, your disgrace?” The lesser demon looked like he was about to pass out now. Crowley did his best to suppress a smile. Apparently his acting choice worked. Good ol’ James Earl Jones. He would have to remember this for future reference.

“Yes.” The words barely escaped his lips and Maphibos was scurrying away back up the alley. Crowley relaxed and chuckled to himself. He really needed to ask the angel what he had said during the swap. There was definitely more that happened than just getting Michael to miracle him up a towel. Aziraphale was very clever, and very devious when he wanted to be. He was rather proud of him. Sauntering back up the alleyway, Crowley caught a beige blur shoot by in the direction of the bookshop. Aziraphale? It was odd to see him out at this time of night. Picking up his pace, the demon peered out into the night. Yes, it was definitely the angel. He had been so secretive lately, but this seemed even more out of character. Should he follow him back to the shop? He could stop by and tell him he could stop worrying about the two of them, you know, just because he was in the neighborhood. 

~**~

The trip back to the head office wasn’t fast enough for Maphibos. He ran quickly through London’s back alleyways, hiding in shadows as he went. He needed to get as far away from Lord Crowley as possible. A sudden wave of demonic presence appeared before him and he slowed to a halt. Panicked, his breathing got heavy, and he looked all around. Now, had he been a smart demon, he would have stopped breathing altogether, being that he did not have any need to breathe, but his kind were never known for their intelligence. A dark shape dropped in front of him. He spun around to escape, and two more dropped in the once empty alley. Turning back once more, he faced the first being, who was rising from a crouch. “Out a little late now, aren’t we, Maphibos?”

The minion of hell was terrified of just about everything, but a gang of angel killers scared him just as much as the Holy Water wielding Lord Crowley. “Castros, my l-lord. What a pleasure. I was just heading back to the head office. I’m done with my duties for today.” He fell to one knee and bowed his head. Castros was a fox like demon, bright ginger hair, sharp features, and a keen sense of smell, which was very helpful for his favorite task of hunting angels.

“And what would that be?” A female sounding voice whispered by his ear. This demon was known as Silano. She was slick and cool, and serpentine by nature. She was also everything Crowley was not and tried to appear to be.

“Meeting with Lord Crowley.”

The gang of demons fell silent and glanced at one another. The one called Castros spoke again. “What has he to do with hell now?”

Shaking, Maphibos dared not look up. “He wanted to make sure no one was to disturb him or his friend.”

The last demon spoke with a thick accent, “Wa’s that supposed to mean? Who would wan’ do that? I mean, he’s invulnerable.”

Castros seemed to ponder this. “Unless he’s not.”

“Wha’ we seen then? He’s immune to Holy Water. Ya can’t touch ‘im.” This last demon was called Brunder. He was not the brightest bulb in the lamp, but he knew sticking with Castros was a smart idea. 

“Why would an ‘all mighty demon’ with angelic abilities need to make sure he was not to be bothered?” The fox demon ran a hand through his firey hair.

Sileno, paced around Maphibos, watching him almost hungrily. “I’ve been wondering if he hasss found a way to gain heaven’sss favor. Perhapsss,” she hissed bending down beside the minion of hell again, “He may even be regaining hisss angelic sssstanding? Why elssse would have been able to withssstand holy water?”

Stroking his long chin, Castros was deep in thought. “I’ve been wondering the same, Sileno. There are only two conclusions I can come to. Either he has tricked us all into believing he is untouchable, or he truly has regained his angelic nature. If this is the case, it’s no wonder he wishes no one to know.” He chuckled a bit. “It would mean he would be fair game for someone like us. I must say,” a wicked smile spread across his face, “I am intrigued.”


	2. The Sword

“Angel?” The little bell on the shop door jingled violently as Crowley sashayed into the bookshop, doing a bad job at looking casual. “Angel, you here?”

“In the back!” A muffled voice called from the back room. The sounds of quick shuffling and then a stack of volumes tumbling to the floor followed. Proceeded by an “Ouch!” 

“You hurt?” The demon peeked around the corner to find Aziraphale rubbing at his head and looking rather flushed with embarrassment as he re stacked books.

He refused to face his friend for a moment. “Just my pride…” he said sulkily. Crowley did his best to suppress a laugh.

The back of the shop looked like a disaster zone. It never was the tidiest of places, but Aziraphale had always done his best to keep things in relative order, but now books and papers lay strewn about the floor, many opened wide to passages. The couch had papers laid out on it, as well as a few charts. In a corner by a shelf, the old computer was set up and on, with yet another pile of books atop of it, the screensaver bouncing about with the out of date operating system logo. Stacks stood precariously high on here and there, but there was one little space on the floor clear of this mess, big enough for one angel to sit. Azriaphale had managed to tip toe over all this over to his desk and was now, it appeared, putting things away.

“I’d ask if you’d been robbed, but I’m pretty sure you’re working on something, yeah?” Crowley bent to pick up the volume closest to his feet. Aziraphale drew in a quick breath. “You cleaning up now? I can help.”

“No, thank you, I have a system.” The angel reached for a few books by his feet. “You’re here awfully late.”

“Yeah,” he sniffed nonchalantly, “Well, I was in the area. Listen, you do know we don’t have to worry about the head offices coming after us now, right? I ran into an old work colleague and he was scared stiff of me. I dunno what you said, but well done.”

Aziraphale slowly turned back towards him. “Crowley, you don’t just casually run into an old coworker.” His eyes grew wide. “You set up a meeting to find out!”

“Now, wait just a moment, don’t get all huffy.” He put up his hands defensively. “You were doing research on hellfire and I could see you going all guardian angel on me, so yeah, I made a call.” The blonde being opened his mouth to interject, but Crowley held up a finger. “But we are fine. Head office doesn’t know what to make of us. You gave ‘em some kind of warning and they’re all scared. So good job. Now,” he tiptoed over books and papers carefully as he spoke, and was inches from Aziraphale, “Can we get back to normal again? I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks, even though I stop by all the time.” He laid a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Placing the book he had in his hand down on his desk, Aziraphale let out a long sigh. “I will when I feel absolutely certain we have one last precaution. I have a favor to ask of you.” He fished into his pant pocket and pulled out a freshly folded sheet of copy paper. It still smelled of ink. Handing it over, Crowley unfolded it and began to read the photocopy.

“What the heaven would you want this for?” Crowley removed his sunglasses to glare fully at the angel.

“The same reason you asked me for holy water all those years ago.” He took in a deep breath. “Insurance. For both of us.”

The demon furrowed his brow, “But why?” Flashes of their time spent together flitted in and out of his mind. He was not about to just hand his best friend a means of ending it all. He knew he had been withdrawn lately--“I’m not just going to stand by and give you--” 

“If I can obtain this, I will have it blessed as well.” The angel cut him off. Suddenly, the bookish angel no longer seemed soft and weak to Crowley.

Understanding dawned in Crowley’s eyes, “So it can kill both an angel and a demon.” Aziraphale nodded gravely. “And you think this will work? What if the blessing cancels out the weapon’s power?”

“That is just a chance I will have to take. I believe it will work, I have to trust in that.” The angel had removed his readers, his face held a warrior’s confidence.

Crowley took in a deep breath. “Well, if it gives you peace of mind, then yeah, I’ll get it for you.” He paused thinking. “You know swords forged in hellfire aren’t exactly easy to come by, right?”

~**~

Putting his mobile back in his pocket, Crowley stopped his pacing at the front of the shop and returned to the back where Aziraphale was still picking up. “Well, I called in a favor. Turns out there’s one sitting in a museum.” Aziraphale paused in his work and gave him the look to continue his train of thought. “We’re gonna need to steal it.”

“We?” The angel looked indignant. “I’m not stealing anything, I’m the good one, remember?”

Crossing his arms, Crowley leaned against a bookcase. “You want this thing or not?”

The angel nodded sheepishly. The demon uncrossed an arm and tossed a hand up, as if to say Well? The angel huffed. “Why can’t we get some low level minion to retrieve it?” 

“Who them? They’re scared and stupid, besides, I’ve used up all my favors now. We’re on our own.”

Folding his readers and setting them aside, Aziraphale gave in. “Well, desperate times.”

~**~

Crowley loved the movie National Treasure. It had history, a heist, and lots of great chase scenes. He had the whole film memorized and knew his first step to stealing the sword would be to go to the museum and find out where the item was housed and see what the security was like.

It was your typical museum in an old church like building in Manchester. The rooms were bright with high ceilings, and the centerpiece was a huge Tyrannosaurus Rex fossil that loomed over visitors. Crowley sniggered as they passed by it when they had come in.

“To think, the one thing that will keep us safe is right there behind glass but feet away.” Aziraphale was sketching out the sword in a pocket sketchbook, as well as jotting down notes of the surrounding area: sensors, cameras, angles, and glass thickness estimation. Crowley had wanted to use his mobile to snap photos, but Aziraphale insisted that looked too suspicious. The sword was sitting with the samurai artifacts, though this was incorrect. The sword was actually forged in hell some thousand years before that and created in a more central Asian style, lacking a curved blade.

“Well, I could miracle the glass away and just nick it. But that ruins the fun.” He gave a sly smile and peered over his dark lenses.

“Fun? This is not fun! This is serious! Besides, I think others would notice.” The flustered angel closed his book. “What did you have planned? Break in at night?”

The demon shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “Not quite.”

Aziraphale saw the wheels turning in his friend’s mind. “Oh no, you are not doing that American Treasure thing.” Crowley had thought that his bookish friend would enjoy the film, but he had spent the majority pointing out the flaws in the history, and couldn’t get past the whole Knights Templar and Masonic business.

Crowley sighed, feigning annoyance, “No, it’s National Treasure, angel, and yeah, something like that.”

“If I recall, he got in during some kind of gala, and we do not have the luxury of that.” He pushed up his readers on his nose.

“Well, I don’t hear you giving any ideas.”

He turned back toward the sword, considering it for a long moment. “Well, what if you miracled yourself to appear as a guard? Stay in the museum after it closes, miracle the sword out of the case, and then depart. Sounds simple enough to me.”

Thinking this over a moment or so, Crowley tossed the idea around in his mind. Sure it lacked the finesse of a good movie, but it reminded him of the Isabella Stewart Gardner robbery back in the states years ago. He was impressed with that job, even found the robbers to congratulate them and help them hide the precious canvases. And he would get to wear a disguise, like in the movies. Sot it wasn’t exactly National Treasure, but it had the makings of a good heist. And he had an idea to make it even better. “Okay, this is good, but how about we make a fake to replace it with?”

They had turned towards the exit of the room they were in to explore the rest of the museum, passing a beautiful stuffed owl. Aziraphale glanced back at the artifact. “That is actually an excellent idea. I have been feeling rather wretched about the whole thing. This would make me feel considerably better about it all.”

The demon threw a companionable arm around the angel’s shoulder. “See, I can have good ideas sometimes.”

~**~

Times had grown a little rough for angel hunters. Castros and his gang were looked at as behind the times back at the head office. These days, they just wanted demons to concentrate on winning souls for hell rather than taking out the opposition. Killing an angel was usually not something that would go unnoticed by the humans, and a discorperation always left evidence. If the were given an assignment, which was quite rare, it had to be a full extinction. Which was bad if you were an angel killer, bent on only one goal at all times, because it left you with a lot of free time. Castros and his fellows had roamed the world for millennia, discorperating and destroying angels, causing chaos in their wake. But they never went after Aziraphale. They were aware of him and his bookshop, but Crowley had made it very clear time and again that the angel was his to deal with and not to be touched. And besides, a scholar didn’t seem like much fun to go after. No, they liked a challenge. Even matched three to one, most angels put up a great fight, sometimes lasting weeks if they were lucky. It was the sport of it all. But Castros and his posse hadn’t killed an angel in quite some time now.

So he, Sileno, and Brunder spent their days roaming and making trouble wherever they went. Head office wasn’t quite sure what to do with them anymore, so as long as they didn’t mess with their plans, they didn’t care what the demons did. 

Castros spent the next few days pondering their encounter with Maphibos and what he had said about Crowley. He had witnessed first hand the demon surviving holy water. It certainly set him on edge. But the demons all had headed his warning about leaving he and his friend alone lest they see what else he was capable of. Now he actually wondered how invulnerable Crowley actually was. And if he did have some kind of weakness, how he could exploit it. The head office was also no longer concerned with this London based demon, which also meant this demon wasn’t being monitored and could be dealt with without fear of repercussions. That is if he was even still truly a demon. 

If he took down Crowley he might even have a commendation for his work, whether he was a demon or not. Most of the others were too afraid of the serpent now. Traitors must be punished, right? And why not take out his angel friend in the process. He was an angel killer after all.


	3. The Heist

“You done with that yet, angel?” Crowley was leaning over the blonde man-shaped being watching him work on what the angel hoped appeared to look like a sword. It did not. He had been hammering away on the metal all morning with a silver mallet. This of course was not the right way to forge a sword, and both of them knew it, but they lived in central London and there was no real way to do it properly, so Aziraphale was making up his own method hoping this would work. And failing.

“If you would not hover so, it would get done a lot more quickly.” The angel irritably pushed his glasses up on his nose. 

He had been at this all day, and really getting nowhere with it. So far it looked like a long, flat metal thing and not so much a sword. The demon was extremely bored now. He had left several times to go get treats to keep the angel going when he had asked for them, but this was just getting silly. Crowley leaned in and half whispered in his ear, “You know, that’s a lot of hard work you are doing, and it looks brilliant, but wouldn’t it just be easier to miracle it to look correct?”

Aziraphale was not so easily swayed by the Serpent of Eden. “No, no, these things must be done right.”

Seeing that his first temptation had failed, the demon leaned in closer and actually whispered this time. “Too bad it’s going to take so long. You’ve already worked so hard on this, you deserve a break. Like dinner, say perhaps at the Ritz.”

The angel paused in his work. Now Crowley had Azriaphale’s full attention. “Well, it has been a lot of hard work. Does it look that bad?”

“No, not at all!” He lied, for the sake of his friend’s pride he told himself. “It’s just--it’s going to take you days at the rate you’re working, and you have so many other things you could be doing with your time.”

Aziraphale knew the demon well enough to know when he was being untruthful, but he appreciated his trying to be kind all the same. He also knew when he was being tempted. However, when it came to an invitation to the Ritz, it was hard to refuse. “Alright then.” He glanced at the sketch he had drawn of the sword which lay next to the chunk of metal he had been working on, and snapped his fingers. The metal was now a fully accurate replica of the sword in the museum. “There. I must admit, this is far superior to what I would have made.”

Crowley clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “You did your best, angel.” 

~**~

Two figures as opposite as day is to night walked towards the bookshop. Perched above the shop, two figures watched the two companions as they approached in the twilight.

“It’s been two weeks now, can’t we jus get ‘em?” Brunder fidgeted with a feather from his wing.

Castros held up a hand. “We must have patients. We’re still not even sure if the Serpent tricked everyone or not.

A third figure glided down and dropped silently to the roof, folding grey wings behind her back. “He’s got sssome sssort of sssketch for a sssword on his desssk, and lotsss of booksss on the sssupernatural laying out. And ssseveral are open to passsages on dissspatching a sssupernatural entity.” She slid over to the lean form of the fox demon.

A sharp, toothy grin pulled at his cheeks. “Now why would an angel turned demon need such knowledge. Leads you to wonder.”

The light and dark forms of Aziraphale and Crowley entered the bookshop below. Sileno spat. “Makesss me sssick watching them.”

“Hey, din’ he start the French Revo’ution or som’thin’?” Brunder was now using the shaft of the feather to pick at his teeth.

Sileno rolled her eyes. “Yesss, and he earned a commendation for it. Yet, here he is, consssorting with an angel, like it’sss nothing.” The other two knew she was jealous of Crowley, she had made that very evident, but neither bothered to ask why. It was none of their business what rivalry they might have had, and as far as Castros was concerned, a little pent up frustration didn’t hurt. On the contrary, negative emotions only made a demon like her a better companion to take pray down with.

“Let’s go. Nothing more we can do tonight, but I have a feeling we’ll have our opening soon. If we want to destroy them, we’ll need to get them separately. Makes the chase all the more fun after all.” Castros’ eyes flashed as red as his hair. Spreading black wings, he glided off into the London night, silently followed by his posse.

~**~

“Hallo, can you hear me, Crowley?” Aziraphale shouted into the demon’s earpiece. He pulled it out, rubbed the side of his head, and replaced it.

“Yes, now stop shouting, or this corporation will be def in one ear.” Behind his lenses, he rolled his eyes. He was standing inside the museum, trying to look inconspicuous, admiring art as he walked. Aziraphale was left in the getaway car (the Bentley of course) manning a laptop and radio. The demon had rigged the computer to have views of all the cameras in the building so that the angel could monitor them all. Of course, Azriaphale grumbled that he wasn’t a computer whiz like “that young man in the American Treasure film” and wouldn’t be much use. But he was trying.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He could hear the angel crumpling up a wrapper.

Crowley hissed back, “Are you eating in my car?”

The crumpling stopped. “Well, yes I brought some Jammie Dodgers, and I got peckish--”

“Just don’t leave any crumbs.” He sighed. There was no stopping a peckish angel and he knew it. “The museum should be closing soon, so keep an eye out for a place I can change.” He whispered, pretending to be very interested in a suit of armor that was incorrectly labeled from the 1300’s.

“Would the gent’s be a good place to go? There’s no camera monitoring that door, so the security guard won’t see you.” He could hear the angel swallowing and now unscrewing a thermos cap. Oh great, now he was drinking in his car.

Circling to a new exhibit, Crowley glanced in the direction of the washrooms. Aziraphale had made a valid observation. The cameras were pointed towards the exhibits. He could enter and exit in the security guard’s uniform without getting picked up. Now for the hard part, miracling the sword swap. The fake was safely hidden under a ward from prying eyes and attached to his side. Even cameras weren’t going to pick it up. Aziraphale would have to miracle the camera off for a moment while Crowley worked his own miracle to switch them. And they had to be fast. “Yeah, good thinking. Just be ready. When I leave the washroom, as soon as you see me come into frame, shut the camera off. I’ll let you know when I’m done and you can turn it back on again. I’ll only have moments to get back to the car after that.”

An announcement went over the PA system that the museum would be closing in five minutes. “You sound rather excited about this.” The angel huffed disapprovingly.

Crowley grinned as he slowly made his way to the gent’s. “Well, yeah, it’s like James Bond. I get to nick an important item and save the day.” He could feel the angel rolling his eyes on the other end of the radio. 

For the next fifteen minutes he waited in silence in the washroom, hiding in a stall, and listening to Aziraphale chew. Of course the night guards would come round and check, he was sure of it, but he crouched on a loo, just to make sure his feet weren’t visible. Sure enough, the door swung open. “Oi, anyone in here?” a gruff voice called and echoed a bit in the space. Crowley stopped breathing. The door creaked shut, and he could hear the guard’s walkie click on as it swung “Yeah, all clear.”

“How are we looking, angel?” Crowley whispered. He could tell he had startled Aziraphale, because his voice was a little out of sorts.

“Oh right! Um…” A pause. He must have been looking over the cameras. “No, no one is in your vicinity.”

Quietly, the demon stepped back onto the tile floor, and exited the stall in a different outfit than what he had entered it in. Even his sunglasses were different. Now he looked the part of a night guard. He exited the gent’s and headed towards the case with the sword. “Ready?” He whispered into his ear piece.

“The camera’s down. Oh you’d better be quick, Crowley.” The angel’s nerves didn’t bother him, but they sure could be annoying.

“I’ve got this, watch the cameras.” He lightly dashed for the exhibit. The fake sword was now visible at his side. Unstrapping it from his belt, he held it up, eyeing the position of the one in the case and matching it, biting his lip as he concentrated. With a nod the two identical weapons blinked in and out of existence. The swap was made. He replaced the sword at his side, buckling the belt, and the sword once more was no longer visible to the human eye. “All set, when I am out of the room, I’ll let you know.”

“Head away from the guard room, one is coming your way to check the camera.” Crowley had figured for this and headed out the back way. He wasn’t planning on exiting the museum out the front anyway, that would have been daft, they would have seen him. No, he found a back entrance the employees used and snaked his way in that direction.

Once out of the room, he let Aziraphale know, and the downed camera came back to life again. He could hear a walkie screech back on, and the guard on the other end speaking. “Never mind, must have been a malfunction, it’s on now.”

Footsteps in the direction of the exhibit, stopped and the walkie squeaked back. “Gotcha, heading back now.”

Crowley picked up his pace and darted down a hallway, and into a doorway marked Employees Only. Just beyond was a locker room, break room, and there, the exit. He was just about home free. He was feeling quite pleased with himself.

“Start the car, angel.”

He could feel the angel rolling his eyes. “Not this again…”

“I said start the car.” He was out the door now and could see the Bentley.

“I wish you would stop reenacting that American Treasure film.”

Crowley grinned. “Yeah well, all I can say is I did a better job with the heist than Nicolas Cage did.” He pulled the car door open, sitting down now in his own clothes and sunglasses. Unstrapping the sword from his side, he gently handed it, sheathed, to Aziraphale. “One infernal sword for you. Don’t say I never give you anything.”


	4. Fight for their lives

The chill of the evening was beginning to set in and Crowley was on his way towards the bookshop. He had decided to walk this time. Aziraphale had asked him to meet with him after he had returned from the church with the sword. He had hoped Crowley would help him try some experiments to see if the blade worked the way he believed it would. What kind of experiments, even the angel wasn’t sure of yet, but he was sure there was some way to test it. Crowley didn’t often walk to the bookshop, but tonight he wanted the fresh air. This would end up being a mistake. 

He wound through the back roads and alleyways of Mayfair, making his way towards Soho. Alone with his thoughts, he whistled as he went. As he entered an alley away from the sight of the people out on the street, he felt the chill of demonic presence and two figures stepped out into the walkway in front of him. He immediately recognized the slender female shaped demon, but not her companion.

“Sileno, long time, no slither. How ya, been?” Crowley kept his cool. Among the demons, many had compared her to Crowley, as she was also serpentine in nature, but something about her actually set other demon’s nerves on edge, whereas Crowley just seemed to be more annoying to them than anything else. She strutted towards him with the measure of a runway model. Her pupils were slits like his, but the overall color was green, and the slits much more narrow. In all his milenia on earth, she had made it quite clear that she wanted his job, and had even tried to kill him for it several times. Every time she did well on an assignment, somehow Crowley would manage to receive yet another commendation. But that wasn’t his fault, he just knew how to take credit for the terrible things the humans came up with! Over time, she faded off his radar. He had thought she had moved on from their competition, now it looked like she had hooked up with this lumbering figure.

She placed a single beautifully manicured finger under his chin, the long nail digging into his skin. “We know you’re hiding sssssomething, Crowley. We’ve been watching.”

“Who, you and Brutus over there?” He nodded towards the hulking form still standing in the shadows behind her. 

“Not just them, Serpent.” A voice spoke from right behind his ear. His blood ran cold. Crowley knew that voice.

“Castros.”

So, she had teamed up with the Angel Killer. Fantastic. The fox-like demon circled around to stand next to the female shaped demon. “You see, we think you and your little angel friend have got everyone fooled, though of course we don’t have proof yet. Downstairs might not care anymore, but you see, we’re not in exactly their good graces lately, and it’s been so long since we’ve been out for a hunt.” Crowley had seen this demon’s work first hand, and it chilled him to the bone. He knew that the head office no longer used angel killers regularly, as it usually was too obvious to kill an angel assigned on earth these days. Castros had never gone after Aziraphale, though he had shown up a number of times to dispatch him, but Crowley had been able to talk him out of it each time. He wasn’t worth it. There would be no sport in it. This angel was not a warrior, he was a scholar. Leave him to Crowley to deal with. And for years, Crowley’s mere presence near Aziraphale was enough to keep Castros at bay. But if he was here--

“Besssides, no matter what, we’re sssure to get a commendation for not only killing the demon gone angel, but imagine what the head office would do if we alsssso took out your beloved angel.” Sileno hissed into his ear.

Crowley swallowed hard. By this time, the large demon had joined them and was looming over him. “Guys, I think there’s been a mistake.” He paused, scrambling for an idea to get him out of this. “I think you all forgot about my warning.” Bless it, he wished the angel had told him exactly what he had said during the trial.

“I think you’re bluffin’.” The large, muscular demon finally spoke. 

“Unless there’s something you’d like to tell us? Please, what else are you capable of, we’d love to know.” Castros spoke this mockingly. Crowley’s mind spun. He had no answer for this. He had to find a way out of there.

“Bessidesss, it’sss been far too long ssssince we’ve hunted. And now you’re finally fair game.” Sileno had been pacing around him, but now she thrust a hand out and grabbed his hair at the nape of his neck, snapping his head back to look her in the eye. “I have been looking forward to thisss for a long time now.

Castros held up a hand, and Sileno let go of the Serpent. “I think we give him a head start. Kill him now and it’s over too quickly.” He bent a little to get right in Crowley’s face. “Anything you want to say?”

The Serpent of Eden, Tempter of Eve, glared back at the killer of angels. “You’re gonna regret this.”

~**~

Crowley sprinted through London’s dark back streets, long legs taking him away from his attackers. Three winged beings were chasing him through the night, one above him, and two on foot, their stride matching his. He darted up streets he was familiar with until he spotted his target: his flat. He slammed the door to the building shut and raced up the stairs. With a snap the door to his residence was already unlocked and open. It slammed behind him, locking. Like that would do any good, but it was one more thing his pursuers would have to get past to get in. In moments, his safe behind the Mona Lisa was opened and he threw on large rubber gloves. He had prepared for this. No more buckets of water this time. He grabbed a double barreled water gun from the safe, then pushed the table onto its side, making a barricade as the door began to unlock. Crowley crouched down behind the table took aim, and fired.

A burst of water emitted from the gun hitting his first target. The large demon Brunder had the misfortune to have been the first through the door. The blast hit him square in the chest. He screamed in pain and began to melt. Crowley pumped the water gun swiftly, and fired again. This time he missed. Sileno had been swift enough to anticipate an attack, and flipped over the stream. Crowley, pumped, aimed again, and missed. She lifted a leg to kick the gun out of his hand, but he rolled onto his side out of the way, rapidly pumping the water gun as he went. She hissed in return. A kick and the man shaped demon was sent across the room, ribs badly bruised. She stalked his way as he tried to recover quickly. “When you’re gone, I’ll finally get the recognition I should have had a long time ago, and not have to settle with this lot.”

He took aim once more. “I don’t think so.” This time he didn’t miss. “Bye!” The blast met her face and she shrieked in pain and in moments joined her companion as a steaming puddle on the floor.

Two down, one to go.

He loaded the gun again and poised in wait behind the barricade again. The silence was deafening.

Then the glass from the window behind him broke in. Crowley shielded his face from the blast. The water pistol was knocked out of his hand and he was sent flying towards the wall. The lean, muscular form of Castros loomed over him, ginger hair flaming, black wings outspread, hints of red catching the moonlight. He glanced towards the entryway for his companions only to find two piles of smoldering clothing on the floor. He turned back sharply to glare red glowing eyes at the serpent. “Holy water again, Crowley? What are you? What demon does this?”

Crowley wiped blood from a gouge in his cheek. “The kind that that doesn’t give a damn for hell any more.” 

The fox-like demon spotted the rubber gloves on Crowley’s hands and a wide grin spread across his face. “So the great Crowley is vulnerable after all.” 

A pit formed in his stomach: Castros knew now. Behind his sunglasses, the serpent’s eyes darted for some kind of opening to escape. If he could just get down to the Bently, he could escape and get the angel. Then he saw it: the flat screen. With a wave of his hand, he sent the tele across the room towards the looming demon. Crowley somersaulted towards the door as the screen crashed onto Castros. The serpent scrambled long limbs and sprinted down the stairs. The door to the building burst open and Crowley made a dash to the Bently, which had already started up. He flung the door open, and tires squealed and he peeled off down the street.

~**~

The hallowed ground of the church always felt comforting to Aziraphale. His footsteps echoed as he walked down the aisle towards the front of the sanctuary. When he reached the front, he found a pew and took a seat. At his side, the sword had been hidden under his frock coat. He unstrapped it and set it next to him. Looking about the building, he set his hands on his lap, and waited. Hopefully he would see the vicar soon. He had phoned earlier for an appointment, but didn’t give any details of the matter he wanted to speak to him about. He had known Vicar Eastridge for many years now, and the man knew there was something special about the angel, but had yet to figure out his divine nature.

The solitude was quite tranquil. He felt the connection between God and man here, and it filled him with such an inner peace. He wanted to relax and let his wings out, but he knew that was too much of a risk. Then he decided to do something he didn’t often get to do. He decided to pray. Not that he needed to or was even sure he would be heard, but somehow, this was a human thing that he wished he could do like they did.

Although the angel was a holy being, he never was that good at talking with the Almighty. He found that he always fumbled with his words. But this time it was different, this time, he simply opened up his heart.

It didn’t matter how he said it, he found that what mattered was what he was saying, from his heart. He found himself pouring out all his feelings about the last few months since Armageddin’t, his anger at the angels, his sorrow at thinking the world would be lost, his joy that Adam chose to save God’s creation.

“I know I haven’t been a very good angel, but I do think that I have been at least good at my job here on earth. I know you have a reason for everything, even this bumbling fool. Even for a demon’s fall...I know it’s all, well ineffable.” He chuckled at this, seeing Crowley in his mind’s eye smiling a wee bit and shaking his head. “I just want to help these amazing humans you have created make the right choices. Can you let me have that just a little while longer? I’ll even keep the demon in line.” He smiled a little to himself.

Footsteps echoed in the church, Aziraphale looked to to see the Vicar approaching him. The angel stood, straightening his waistcoat. “Good evening, Vicar!”

The older human took the ethereal being’s hand and shook it. “It’s so nice to see you again, Mr. Fell! What was it you needed to see me about?”

“Ah yes!” The angel reached back into the pew and pulled out the sheathed sword. He held it out with both hands palms up to the reverend. “I know this is a fairly unusual request, but I was wondering if I could have you bless this for me?”

~**~

“Get in, angel! Hurry!” The Bentley screeched to a halt in front of the church, startling Aziraphale out of his thoughts. He jogged towards the car, strapping the sword to his side as he went.

“What the hell happened?” The force of the car jolting forward slammed the door closed before the angel could reach for it. He straightened his waistcoat and jacket as they sped away.

Crowley glanced his direction for a moment, his sunglasses could not hide the terror on his face. “That, exactly that.”

“What? You said they--”

“I know what I said, but this demon is different, he’s an angel killer called Castros, and he and his posse seem to think killing us will win them points with downstairs. I managed to take down his buddies, but Castros--” White knuckles gripped the wheel. It was only then that Aziraphale noticed his friend’s wounds. Deep gashes on his hands, and several lacerations on his face. His once pristine black coat was dirty, ripped, and stained with the darker red of his own blood. Bits of glass clung to the fibers of the coat.

Aziraphale reached a hand out, placing a thumb gingerly on one of the wounds on the demon’s face. “Crowley--”

He could see a flick of yellow look his way. “I’m fine, angel. Really. I’m lucky it wasn’t a lot worse.”

Aziraphale removed his hand and gripped the hilt of the sword tightly. He felt a righteous fury building up within him. No one harmed his friend. No one. All these weeks of planning and preparing came down to this moment now. He knew had had been right to anticipate this.

“Angel--” Crowley was looking at him, eyes off the road for a moment. Aziraphale usually gave off a little bit of a divine glow naturally, but now, the angel was almost shining. A tight knot formed in the demon’s stomach. He had never seen him this way before, full of holy energy and power. It actually began to frighten him. Crowley knew the angel was fully capable of this, he would have to be, after all he was guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, a warrior. But in all the millennia they had shared together on Earth, never had he seen even an ounce of this kind of anger or power. Not even when they argued or got upset at one another. He didn’t like this one bit.

Something thunked hard on the roof of the car. Then a large black thing dropped on the hood with a brilliant thump. Two red eyes gleamed at the passengers. Black and red wings spread wide. Crowley veered hard left, the wheels of the Bentley screaming in agony. They had pulled into the car park of a long disused factory building. In the dark, a large sign hung on its wall, reading “Coming soon, Estates in the Low--” and was torn off at the bottom. Clearly a project that never came to fruition. The being on the hood thrust a fist at the windshield. Glass shattered everywhere toward the angel and demon, some of it embedding itself into their skin. A hand gripped Crowley by the neck and pulled him from the vehicle and onto the hood of the car. The demon’s arms flailed as he gasped for air.

The rubies of his eyes pierced the night as Castros stared into Crowley’s own yellow snake-like ones, sunglasses having fallen off as he had been pulled from the Bentley. “You can’t run from me, Serpent. Where’s your precious holy water now?”

“Put him down.”

Slowly, the angel killer turned around with his prey in hand to face the voice.

Aziraphale stood in the open car park, sword brandished to the side. His face was radiant, and his whole body shone in the darkness. White wings spread out wide, making the angel look taller than he was. The pit in Crowley’s stomach grew bigger. He was helpless to save his friend now.

In the dark, a frown crossed the angels killer’s face for a moment. “What did you say, filth?”

“I said, put him down.” The angel’s eyes blazed.

Crowley tried to choke out a warning, anything to get Aziraphale to run. But nothing would come. Like a rag doll, Castros flung him to the side, the demon landing in a heap on the cold pavement. A snap broke the silence of the night. The larger demon flapped wings and sailed soundlessly off the car and stood before Aziraphale. He glanced at the blade in his hand, then back up that the glowing principality. Recognition filled his features.

“That’s an infernal blade, stupid. That’s not going to do you any good.” The demon almost chuckled. He was daft, this one, but full of righteous anger, so the kill would be more enjoyable than he had expected. He would have tried to go after him years ago had he known this angel wasn’t just a bookworm.

With a woosh, the blade caught on fire. A good sword should always be on fire. “Leave me and my friend alone.”

“Who, this thing?” The angel killer scooped up Crowley, who was still lying in a crumpled and helpless pile. He yelped in pain.

“Don’t touch my demon.” The words burned slowly as they left the angel’s lips. He pointed the sword toward Castros. 

My demon. Possessive. Not my friend, my demon. Crowley’s body was seething in pain but for that split second, his heart was full. Aziraphale didn’t care what he was, all he cared was that he was his to care for. He also knew this meant that the angel would do anything to defeat this enemy. Aziraphale may have seen taller at that moment, but he was overshadowed by the angel killer’s more muscular form.

The large demon seemed to consider Crowley for a moment, looking him over. He laughed viciously, “Your demon? I didn’t know angels could possess demons.” He glanced down to the being in his grasp. “This one is broken anyway.” He dropped Crowley to the ground. 

The demon groaned, the words barely a whisper, “No, angel--run.” 

Aziraphale glanced over at his friend, they locked eyes. Crowley saw pain there. But in that moment, a silent message was passed between them. Crowley’s heart broke. He would die defending him if he had to.

Castros manifested a sword, long and angry looking, nothing like the sleek shorter blade the angel held. “I’m going to enjoy this.” His voice was a low growl.

The angel brought his sword up in a defensive position. He was a protector, and would never be the first to attack. He drew from an inward glory, and prepared to meet the demon. He lunged at the principality, black wings wide spread, red catching the dim streetlight. Blade struck blade, clanging in the silence. The fire of the angel’s blade lit the two opponents, and the holy glow Aziaraphale gave off brightened, creating shadows on the pavement as they met. 

Blow met blow as they fought. Castros was surprised at how quick and precise the principality was. He backed the divine being towards a corner as they fought, but the angel saw it coming and flipped over Castros with a flick of his wings, and landed crouched, eyes still blazing with power. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, I’m afraid. Or, you could just leave.”

The angel’s unflinching face infuriated the demon and he ran towards him, lunging his sword. Aziraphale brought his blazing weapon up in defense, and parried the blow, spinning to the side, arm spread wide. He brought the blade up to defend once more. Castros swung widely, this time he slashed the principality’s shoulder. Azriaphale grabbed at the injured arm, crying out in pain. He staggered back, but held the firey blade firm. Blood was spreading across the clean white of his linen frock coat.

Crowley watched, feeling so helpless, reaching out as he tried to pull himself up. “No!”

Eyes darted his way for a moment, then Aziraphale ignored the injury and leapt forward. He was done defending.

Castros gave a wicked sneer as he brought his sword back up. Yes, now this was the kind of fight he was hoping for. The blades sang in the cold night air as they met again and again, Aziraphale’s anger growing. Castros found an opening and kicked the angel squarely in the chest, sending him backwards. It knocked the wind from him, and cracked a rib or two as well. Aziraphale found himself now on the ground, but quickly brought his weapon up, just in time to ward off Castros.

The demon brought his weapon to bare down on the holy being, aiming for his throat. “When you die, angel, I will enjoy cutting your friend up into ribbons and feeding them to the hellhounds.”

Aziraphale had been concentrating on the blade nearing his neck, then eyes flicked up and gleamed brightly. “Never call me that.” His voice was stone cold and steady. “My name is Aziraphale, Principality, Guardian of the Eastern gate. But only one person gets to call me that. And you’re not him.”

Crowley heard every word. And that night, a demon shed a tear for an angel.

The fox-like demon looked confused for a moment, but that was all he needed. With a fresh burst of energy, Aziraphale sent Castros sprawling backwards. His sword fell from his hands landing yards away. The angel spread his wings and swooped over. He thrust his blade towards the angel killer.

The blade met its target. The demon’s eyes went wide. “What?”

Slowly the flesh around the blade began to melt. The demon’s screech pierced the night air and soon the rest of him followed until there was nothing left of him but a puddle of bubbling asphalt. 

Weak from his wounds and the expulsion of so much divine energy, Aziraphale sank to his knees and dropped the blade, which clattered onto the pavement. The light that once shone so brightly from the angel burned out, and the car park grew dark, wings disappearing into the night. Slowly, Crowley crawled over to his friend, placing himself under the angel’s arm. The two met each other’s gaze. They remained silent for a long time.

“That should not have worked, angel.”

Looking away, the angel shook his head and took in a sharp, painful breath, “Yes, but it did.” He lightly pat the demon’s back. “We need to get you back to the bookshop.”

The demon laughed a little, then whimpered in pain, “You’re in no better shape than me.” He looked over to his Bentley. It would take quite a bit to miracle out the damage the car had taken, but it was drivable. “Not sure I can drive, though now that I think about it.”

After a few more moments, Aziraphale wrapped an arm under Crowley’s and began to lift him to his feet. The serpent hissed a little in protest. “I’ve got you, please, let me.” In the darkness, Aziraphale’s eyes pleaded with him. Crowley winced in pain and leaned into his friend, limping on his good leg. The angel opened the back seat of the car and helped him in. 

“Wait, you can’t drive.”

The angel smiled gently, “Right now, I can do anything.” He gently shut the door and Crowley lay on the seat. At that moment, he believed him. Aziraphale returned with the sword, hobbling a little as he went. With a snap, the engine started. The glass was good as new, and they gingerly left the car park. Crowley noted that he drove like an old lady, but eventually they made it back to the shop. The beloved car was left parked outside, still looking worse for wear. It would have to wait, the most important thing were its passengers.


	5. Rays of light

Crowley had never been upstairs to the angel’s flat. He wasn’t even sure it existed until now. But it must have, because here he was being led up the stairs behind a door in the back of the shop. The flat was very small, holding just a bed, bath, and kitchenette. And of course more books. The bed piled with tartan blankets and looked like it hadn’t been slept in for years, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. The angel pulled down the covers and gently helped the demon lay down. Aziraphale removed his shoes and set them by the door. “I think I might have a nightshirt somewhere, let me go see.” He turned to go, but Crowley grasped at his arm.

“No, I’m fine.” He looked up at his friend, pleadingly. “Please, don’t leave.”

Aziraphale smiled gently at the demon. “I’m not going anywhere, I’ll just make some tea. Would you like some?”

And just like that, the avenging angel was gone, and his kind and fussy friend had returned, offering him tea and bustling about. Only Crowley could see in his eyes how tired and weak he was from all his effort. He still had blood on his face from the glass shattering, and his favorite coat was torn and dirty. Yet here he was, taking care of a demon. Correction, his demon had said. His heart felt fit to burst again. Aziraphale had always been his constant in this world. From day one he had been there with him. He never expected an angel to accept him for what he was, yet time and again, when the going got tough, there he was. He had always considered Aziraphale his angel, the one he was assigned to wile against, and secretly he had become very possessive of his friend. He had never hoped to expect that the angel would ever have felt the same. Deeper bonds had been forged then they knew.

“Yeah, that’d be great, angel.” He regarded his injured arm a moment. “Actually, on second thought, I’m not sure I can.”

Tossing his hands up, Aziraphale scrambled back over to his side. “Oh my goodness, where is my head! Here, let me help you.” He pulled a chair up to the side of the bed.

Crowley shook his head fondly at his angel. “No, you are in no state to miracle anything. You’re exhausted. Just--” he paused smiling, “just sit here with me. I don’t even care if you read or sleep. I’ll be fine.”

Aziraphale seemed to consider this, then nodded. Patting the demon’s hand, he settled into his chair. In moments he had closed his eyes. Crowley settled into the most comfortable position possible and he too drifted off to sleep.

~**~

The sun was streaming into the single window in the flat, rays catching dust as it floated by. The bookshop was always dusty, it was the nature of having so many old books in one place, so it wasn’t surprising that the flat upstairs should be the same. Crowley’s eyes blinked a few times as they adjusted, and he carefully sat up. Then realized, he didn’t have to be careful. He moved his leg a bit. Sure it was still a bit sore, but the bone had been mended. In fact all his wounds were healed. And he was in a new black nightshirt to boot. He would have to tell Aziraphale that nightshirts were no longer the fashion and that he preferred silk. He shook his head fondly and then glanced about for his friend. “Angel?” Nothing. “Angel?” He slid out of the bed, bad leg smarting a wee bit, but not too badly, and hobbled over to the door in his stocking feet. Gingerly, he made his way down the stair and into the back room of the shop. He called out again, a little more cautiously. And there was the angel, sleeping soundly on the couch, legs draped over the arm, book on his chest. He looked so drained. Aziraphale must have healed the demon and then came downstairs to read and passed out. He had used up so much energy yesterday, he was shocked he had still even able to heal or work any sort of miracle. He looked fondly at his dear friend and found a tartan blanket, covering him up.

Crowley miracled himself a new set of clothes, then found a seat in his favorite chair. He wanted to be here when the angel woke up. It would be Crowley’s turn to care for him. Then he noticed the blood stain on the angel’s powder blue shirt. How much blood had he lost?

Getting to his feet, Crowley ignored his throbbing leg and crossed the room to examine Aziraphale’s arm. The gash was deep, but it looked like it had stopped bleeding. Aziraphale must have tried to heal it and spent his energy. He dropped to his knees and lay his head on his arms next to the angel. He was still so exhausted himself. Closing his eyes, he drifted back off to sleep, feeling more comforted being near his angel.

~**~

It was hours before Aziraphale stirred. The sun was beginning to set and the last rays of daylight were pouring in under the window shades in the front of the shop. He rolled over to find Crowley curled up asleep on the floor next to him, dressed in a familiar looking outfit. He gently reached and ruffled the demon’s hair. The lanky man shaped being stretched out, and looked up at the blonde being above him. “Hi, angel. Nice to see you up.”

Setting aside the book on his chest, Aziraphale sat up, propped up on an elbow. “I must have been asleep for quite some time. I apol--” Crowley cut him off with a hand and a tutting sound.

“Don’t. Seriously.” He smiled warmly. Aziraphale nodded in response. They sat in a comfortable silence for a long moment. “You--you were brilliant. I have to admit,” He chuckled, “I don’t want to get on your bad side. Er, I mean face your righteous rage. You actually scared me a bit.”

Aziraphale looked away from his demon. “I’m sorry for that. Honestly didn’t know what I was capable of until last night. I’ve...never had to kill before.” Crowley could see his friend was fighting feelings of guilt.

When planning to defend them from any possible attack, Azriaphale considered the fact that he might have to slay an opponent, it was why he worked so hard to obtain the sword. But, when the moment came to defend them both, he hadn’t hesitated to not only defend, but kill. What did that make him? He felt like a monster. Of course other angels smote and some even destroyed other demons, but not Aziraphale. He was unique, and had always found a peaceful way to handle any conflict. So, why had it been different this time? What had caused him to go through with this? His mind spun back to a bench in the late summer, a little boy writing a rude word on a picture of a dinosaur, the two supernatural beings watching. 

I’ve never actually killed...anything. I don’t think I could.

Not even to save everything?

And now, now he had killed. And he had done it to save everything.

Crowley couldn’t bare to see the conflict on his angel’s gentle face. Sitting up, he placed a hand on the angel’s. “He would’ve destroyed us both.”

The blonde being nodded. “I know. I just hoped it would never have to come to that. It’s not something I ever want to do again, either.” But I would if I had to. If it meant he could keep his demon safe, he would take on any challenge that might come their way. 

He drew in a deep breath and winced, remembering his injuries. 

“Angel, you need to take care of that!” Crowley jumped to his feet and laid his friend back down against a pillow.

A gentle smile filled Aziraphale’s face, his eyes held that familiar twinkle when he was happy that the demon was fond of, the lines about them warm and kind. “I’m alright, Crowley. Nothing a bit more rest couldn’t improve.” He was trying to be brave again, and not worry the demon, Crowley knew. But he was. He didn’t know what he would do without Aziraphale.

“Please, let me help you,” He knelt down on one knee beside the couch. “Aziraphale.” He locked his gaze with the angel’s. He hadn’t bothered to miracle up a new pair of sunglasses, because really, there was no need, not when he was home. And the bookshop was more of a home to him than his pristine flat with it’s cold walls and sparse furnishings. Sure he slept there, but here, with his angel, here he lived.

“But you’re not fully recovered yourself, are you? Oh, I hate to be a bother...” Aziraphale protested lightly. Actually, now that Crowley thought about it, he was feeling much better. His demonic powers must have taken over while he sleeping again and done the rest of the work. He could feel all his strength now.

“I’m fine, angel. You took care of me, let me return the favor.” There was a brief pause between them as Aziraphale thought this over, then nodded. He took both of the principality’s hands into his own and began to pour healing power into his friend. A demon can heal just the same as an angel, but they rarely use the ability unless it’s on themselves. When they do use it on others, it’s primarily used to twist humans to get other humans to do awful things, like start cults, to empty the pockets of the poor, or get royal families to believe a person has powers to save their hemophiliac children. It should be noted that while Rasputin was not a demon, many of the folks downstairs took notes on his methods when they performed healings for him. His showmanship was second to none. Crowley had once had the displeasure of meeting the man (he had been summoned for one of these healings) and he remembered getting the heebie jeebies as Aziraphale would put it. 

Now healing a human body is usually fairly simple, but healing an angelic one is always much harder. There is more to it than fixing the corporation that the being is currently assigned to, there also has to be a healing of the soul attached to it. If done incorrectly, the corporation itself could be healed, but the soul attached might not heal correctly and result in residual issues down the line. Aziraphale had been hastily healed once during the Great War in Heaven without a corporation, and this resulted in a permanent limp in his celestial being. He had nearly forgotten about it until he lost his body the day of Armageddin’t. When he arrived in heaven, a sharp pain had shot down his leg and he found himself favoring it right away.

For a long moment, the two stayed silent while Crowley began to work. Being awake during a healing is a different experience than when done asleep. Mind bushes up against mind. It’s an intimate thing, and angels only allowed those who they were closest to to perform such a task. Aziraphale hadn’t wanted to ask Crowley, because he knew with time, and enough rest his body’s own celestial power would take over and do the job. He didn’t know how comfortable the demon would feel taking on such a task. He had expected the healing to feel icy cold, or even perhaps flaming hot. He was surprised at how warm and gentle the sensation was. He saw flashes of memories in his mind’s eye, and the emotion attached to each. Many of the memories he saw were with him, but from Crowley’s perspective. There was amusement, joy, and dare he even say, love? However, one strong emotion stuck out to him: pain. It was the strongest during their fight over the holy water in the nineteenth century. Aziraphale knew he had been upset, but now it was if he could feel his friend’s heart breaking. He had no idea how much he had hurt his demon. 

As Crowley relaxed into the healing process he started to also receive feelings and memories from Aziraphale. He saw flickers of heaven, times spent together, and the overwhelming feeling of loneliness. Over and over, pangs of it, even when he was happiest. It surprised the demon. He had no idea he had felt this way. Even in memories of times spent together, there was still that feeling of isolation, no matter how joyous the occasion was. He saw a confrontation with the other angels and felt his yearning to be accepted, and the nerves he had trying to speak to his superiors. Crowley knew the others hadn’t acted exactly the way one would expect an angel to be, but this was far worse than he realized. There was so much pain in his loneliness. He never knew how much the angel had suffered all these years, not unlike himself.

When Crowley opened his eyes, he didn’t let go of the angel’s hands, instead he held them tighter, gazing at him. “Aziraphale, I had no idea...”

Smiling, the angel squeezed his friend’s hands back. “I know.” He looked at them, “I’m so sorry about how much I hurt you when you asked me for the holy water. I never intended to, I just--I was so afraid you wanted to end it all, and--well, I couldn’t bare the thought of losing you.”

Crowley chuckled a little. “You know, we’re both idiots.” Aziraphale beamed and before they knew it they both were fighting back fits of laughter. The angel’s stomach rumbled. The two man shaped beings looked at his belly, then back up at one another and burst into laughter again.

“I guess you’re hungry, then?” Crowley managed. Aziraphale nodded between laughs. The demon got to his feet, beaming down at the angel, and helped him up.

Just then, Aziraphale noticed the blood stain and rip in his normally neat button down shirt. “Oh, oh dear. This won’t do.” Then his eyes flicked over to his favorite frock coat lying on the arm of the couch, which was now in a shambles, ripped and bloody. “Oh, and my coat!” His eyes look downcast. Crowley was only too happy to fix things. A wave of a hand and the shirt was good as new. The demon shook the frock coat out, and it was clean and neat once more. 

The angel gave a shy smile. “You’re always too good to me.”

Of course Crowley rolled his eyes, told his friend to shut up, and handed him the coat. But Aziraphale knew it was all for show. And the angel wouldn’t have him to change a thing. It’s what made Crowley Crowley. He was fond of him just the way he was. His demon, with the heart of gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I had been sitting on this since this past fall, and finally I got the confidence to post it. I hope you all enjoyed it. Special shout out to my own Crowley. She really inspired me to get back into fan fic and write this one!


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